


The Chronicles

by VeryImpressive



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Brudick - Freeform, Cross-Generation Relationship, Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Gay, Gay Male Character, Humor, M/M, Male Slash, Original Character(s), Same-sex relationships, brucedick - Freeform, rich people, rich people problems, so much gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:26:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9634634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryImpressive/pseuds/VeryImpressive
Summary: A non-connected look into the lives of Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson. [Drabble Series]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! 
> 
> If you find yourself here, you're here to flame me (if that is the case - the door is that way) - or you're here to indulge yourself in some BruDick (if that is the case, welcome again!) 
> 
> For those of you who are familiar with my work, I want to caution that this isn't connected to any of my prior BruDick pieces. These will be separate and unconnected drabbles, possibly full length one-shots. If you're asking yourself why I'm doing this, the best possible explanation that I can give you is that this is the repository for kickstarters for my larger BruDick pieces, ones that I can't bare to delete, but can't expand further into larger stories, or simple drabbles that need a home. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy them!

What was peace?

Peace was something that had been skillfully eluding me since the night my parents were murdered. It was something that always seemed to be just on the other side of the hill, on the horizon, just within reach – only to fall through the cracks. Time and time again, I had never been able to find that true peace, that kind of stupid, _ignorant_ peace that made the world an easier place to be exist in.

I missed the days of my long-forgotten childhood, where I could roam around with a smile on my face and my head buried in the sand. I longed for times where it didn’t matter that we didn’t have heat in our trailer, because Mom had extra blankets to use. I missed the days when it was easier to bare the fact that I had no friends outside of the circus, because I was never in one place long enough.

It would be easier to have that peace, life would be easier if I didn’t have to know the things that I knew about life and the world. There was a secret part of me that would give damn near anything to re-join the circus, perform tight-rope acts, travel the country and live off that. It was in my very blood, the urge – the real need to put on a show, to take up all the attention and the space in the room.

But I couldn’t leave, even if I wanted to leave.

And even if I could – I couldn’t give up the chauffeured Bentley limousines.

Bruce Wayne gave me many things, he gave me love, he gave me companionship, he gave me the security of knowing that I was _secure_. That sort of safety wasn’t something that a lot of common people of Gotham City could say, but they didn’t live with Bruce Wayne, and the most certainly didn’t live with Batman.

Why did I long for peace? Yet, at the same time – love this man.

Groaning and shutting my eyes as Bruce’s hands threaded themselves through my hair and began to massage my scalp – I practically melted in his lap.

“You’re spoiling me,” I whispered.

There was nearly no sound in the living room, save for the faint noise of the news coming from the television, and our breathing. On patrol last night, I broke six ribs and had taken a hell of a fall – I had been laid up in bed, and had been babied all day. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying it, but it was strange.

“You deserve to be spoiled,” Bruce murmured back.

The smile that came to my face was wide and unchecked.

“I’ve been shot, stabbed – but I break a few ribs and you’re suddenly treating me like a piece of fine china,” Maybe it was the painkillers, but I thought that this was the most hysterical thought I’d had in years. “You’re a total mystery.”

“You nearly took a header off that building, and you would have if I hadn’t tackled you in time,” Bruce reasoned as gently as Bruce could possibly reason and I wanted so desperately to roll my eyes. There was a problem with the relational that he had for tackling me, breaking my fall and benching me for at least two months.

I pushed my scalp as best as I could into his fingers, “I broke my ribs because two hundred pounds of _Bat_ decided to tackle me into a stone balustrade.”

“Would you have preferred to have cracked your head open on the pavement?” He admonished me and very nearly took the barely concealed bait.

That got me to open my eyes, and when I did, I locked them onto his and gave him a withering glare. For all his magnificent intellect, Bruce could be so dense. “B, are you _seriously_ asking me if I would rather be in a coma right now?”

Interpersonal communication, _real_ person to person communication was something that Bruce Wayne, the real Bruce, was terrible at, and always had been.

“I’m sorry for making sure that you didn’t fall off that building,” Bruce groused and I restrained a chuckle – it hurt to laugh. “Next time, I’ll let you do it.”

“Asshole,” I slapped him lightly, a smile on my face. “Go get my pudding.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried like hell to expand this into a full-length piece, but I couldn't seem to do it. 
> 
> But I had to get this point, it was just killing me. 
> 
> I hope you like it!

It had to be him.

 

“You knew about them, _didn’t you_?” Bruce accused, though he found that he couldn’t muster up the venom to throw at Dick, that venom that he felt in the pit of his stomach.

 

There could be no denying that he loved his son.

 

Even when Damian had come to them as a seemingly irrepressible ball of anger and arrogance, Bruce found that he loved him. In many ways, the boy reminded him of himself, certainly how he would’ve turned out if he hadn’t had lighter influences in his life around that same time. He was even prouder of the fact that as time passed, and Damian found himself growing older, that he’d managed to mold himself into a relatively normal teenager. It was testament to his son’s strength that he was able to overcome the conditioning that his mother had forced upon him, overcome it and utterly conquer it.

 

That wasn't to say that Damian was humble, or kind, but he wasn't spitting in anger at everyone, and that was what mattered. 

 

Dick looked up at him with what could only be described as a shit-eating grin.

 

“Why yes, I did,” He nodded and his phone down on the table in front of him. “I’m surprised that you weren’t able to put it together – they weren’t being all that subtle.”

 

As far as his son’s proclivities and sexual orientation, he was fine with that too.

 

He certainly was in no position to talk. He’d found his fair share of men and women attractive over the years, not so much focusing on their reproductive systems, as themselves. He knew that his son’s mother, and grandfather for that matter, weren’t all that picky when it came to what was between the legs of their sexual partners. If anything, Damian came by bisexuality honestly, and he hoped that it would be clear _that_ it wasn’t his concern.

 

“He’s too young.” Bruce could feel the heavy scowl settling on his lips.

 

Dick cocked his head. “Oh yes, because all sixteen-year-old boys are pure angels, and not sex-crazed bags of water and hormones.”

 

“I’m talking about the Kent boy.” Bruce bit back.

 

Two days ago, he and Dick had stumbled upon Damian and Jon Kent in an embarrassing grope fest in the backseat of the Batmobile. That was two days ago, and after forcing Clark’s son into an embarrassing retreat home, Damian had spoken maybe ten words to Bruce and Dick. He’d spoken more to Alfred then he had to either of them, and even the extent of that engagement was hurried, and almost uncharacteristically antsy.

 

“If you’re going to bring the very slight, almost minuscule age difference up, I’ll remind you that there are worse examples of it, look at the two of us,” Dick fixed him with a withering look. “And, hell, there are other things to worry about then the son of Superman sullying your son’s chitin. It’s not like he’s dating Rupert Throne’s kid.”

 

Dick had a point, though Bruce was utterly loathed to admit it.

 

“And if you’re worried about Damian corrupting Jon, may I, _again_ , point out who the boy’s father is?” Dick was openly mocking him now, and Bruce noted that he was perhaps one of five people living that could get away with it, relatively, unscathed.

 

Bruce was beginning to feel almost put out by the fact that Dick seemed to be decimating every single irrational concern that had popped up in his mind over the last forty-eight hours. He understood, in fact, that none of the concerns that he’d expressed were of any real consequence to him. The reality of the situation was that if Damian was healthy, and if Damian was happy – and not breaking any laws, no matter the variety, County, State, Federal or International, Bruce would support any relationship that Damian found himself in.

 

But there was still a single hang up.

 

Sinking down to sit next to Dick on the couch, the scowl never left his lips as he rested his hands in his lap. The shock centered around one issue. “Why did it have to be Clark’s kid? You have to know that he’s going to brag about it until we both drop dead.”  

 

Dick let out a shock of laughter. “I knew it.”

 

Bruce turned and narrowed his eyes at his lover.

 

“I knew you’d think of it as some weird pissing contest,” Dick’s eyes twinkled. “Clark owes me twenty bucks.”

 

Bruce glowered some more.

 


End file.
